#realmsrogue

or was it that miserable time when he'd returned, ever briefly, only to rage against the mountainside livestock, never giving rheowyck as much as a glance only for rheowyck to learn later that the reason behind such blind carnage was the loss of father's bastard by the whore he'd taken to bed ? the reason he returned to runestone at all.

❛ — father.  ❜ rheowyck finally finishes, moving down the steps of his great hall. this empty, echoing hall. ❛ don't tell me. have the news of mother passing moved you so, or are you here to collect whatever riches she may left in your name ?  ❜

°✧*:·゚  𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 accepting

There had been a time when those words might’ve pleased her. When she was younger, when Daemon’s devotion had seemed like the most dangerous and beautiful thing in the world, she might’ve mistaken destruction for proof. She might’ve believed that a man willing to burn everything for her was a man who could never leave her.

“No,” she said. “That isn’t what I wish to hear.” Her fingers curled against the wood armrest beneath her palm. She hated how easily he could make her feel young again, like the girl who waited for him to return to court and searched every doorway for the first glimpse of silver hair.

“I wish to hear that you’ll stand beside me while I try to save it.”

Her violet eyes remained fixed on his face, searching for something she wasn't even sure of. “I don’t need you to burn kingdoms for me, Daemon. I’ve seen enough fire. I’ve buried enough of my blood because men believed ruin was the same thing as victory.”

Luke’s face came to her without warning. Jace’s followed close behind and grief pressed hard against her heart, but she refused to look away from him.

“I need you here,” she continued with a sigh. “I need you to help me hold together what they’ve torn apart. I need you to remember that this realm is meant to be more than a grave built in my name.”

She could feel the anger rising up in her, but beneath it fear. Not of the Greens, or of the armies gathering against her, but the fear of looking over one day and finding his place empty again.

@realmsrogue, enemies, frenemies, it's complicated! / he is quick on his feet, nimble with his movements, and perhaps he fights too much like that of his dornish roots. relenting and without relief. a pure reminder of why one should never turn their backs or be quick to believe their oppenent won't strike just because their sword has lowered. perhaps one might call it cheating. criston sees it as the reality of battle. in a war, the enemy will not wait for you to face them and give eye contact. he strikes, and strikes, and strikes. like a true warrior.

Well, for her. In all her years at court, Alicent could not recall ever seeing the prince be made to look uncomfortable by anyone, not even the king. A well-behaved girl like her would hardly be the first. She had been so excited when Father told her the news of their betrothal, remembering how gallant he had looked in the previous tournament, the confidence in his smile when he asked for her favor right before unhorsing Gwayne. The memory made her blush. Otto had looked at her like she was a silly child back then, though any young lady would have been thrilled at the idea of being Daemon’s bride. Her response had been quite mild, in truth.

“The prince is no friend to us,” Father had told her, “make no mistake.” He had warned her about many things that day. Things Daemon had done, things he might do, the ways that he might use her against her own family. Not a single word spared for his qualities - only caution after caution after caution.

Now, Alicent sat across from him in the palace gardens – under the Septa’s chaperonage, for the sake of propriety – and wondered whether the arrogant, almost mocking smile he always wore concealed a knife underneath.

Gods, what was even the purpose of this morning?

For you to become acquainted, Septa Marlow would have said, but it felt like some kind of test. Such formalities seemed beneath his contempt. Her gaze wavered between his figure and the rosebushes behind his seat, like it didn’t know where to land. 

The  fall  of  King's  Landing  had  been  a  long  time  coming.  Even  if  she  played  her  part  around  it,  she  still  feared  for  the  life  of  Helaena  and  Jaehaera,  specially  when  she  took  notice  that  Aegon  was  not  in  the  capital  as  she  had  promised.  Who  knows  what  would  come  from  it  the  moment  news  of  Jace's  death  came  from  the  Gullet.  Even  she  had  been  surprised,  for  none  of  them  anticipated  the  battle  on  the  sea.  Daemon  is  not  who  she  expects  the  morning  after  she  was  sent  to  what  were  Rhaenyra's  chambers  as  a  princess,  those  that  were  allowed  for  her  after  she  was  demoted  as  Queen  Dowager. 

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧 accepting

“Is that why they call you the Rogue Prince?” Rhaenyra teased him, though she knew well enough about the stories they tell about Daemon.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, despite how hard she was fighting it to stay down, and she studied him before going on. “Were you born mad, or did that come later?” The question was attempted to be delivered with all the innocence she could muster up, but the glimmer in her eyes betrayed her.

Rhaenyra shifted where she stood, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I have heard a hundred different tales about you. Every lord seems to have his own version. In some, you are a hero. In others, a villain.” Her smile widened a bit. “Though I notice the most entertaining stories are always the ones told by men who dislike you.”